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Copyright 1992
A damp day in April is cold and empty
for a troubled soul,
set apart
from the carefree young women
eagerly awaiting the promises of May.
The Devourer swallows the full and fertile globe.
Now she is the void,
an empty black hole in the sky.
She sings her tide-songs
and pulls on the air-currents,
strong with magnetism.
"Embrace me, my child," sings the Siren,
"Come, sink into my depths.
Let me ease your woes;
forget them in my Gulf of Night."
And trying to reach the Goddess in the sky
she sank into the Abyss
and was gone.
This is a poem about Corinne Guntzel, a professor of Economics at Wells College, who drown herself in the lake in April of 1986. Corinne was well-liked and respected. I hardly knew her, but I was living next door at the time. It shook up the whole community. I remember the night well -- it was one of those weird nights, the time of the new moon, and the effect of the moon on the lake could be felt in the air. I noted this to a friend as we walked in town that night. Next morning a chill went through me as I heard helicopters over the campus. Later that day I learned they had been looking for the body. To this day the sound of a helicopter feels sinister and scary.
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Last updated: July 25, 1997